Stalemate
by Greekgeekable
Summary: Kent Nelson is dead. And the next host of Doctor Fate: Eric Strauss is yet to be born. Nabu is in turmoil and Jor-El must take fate into his own hands. Jor-El has made several promises in his lifetime and his computerised existence; and his final promise to a son who has fulfilled all his wildest dreams - jeopardises the lives Clark Kent and Superman have successfully built.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All rights reserved to the CW, Smallville and Warner Brothers.**

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Chapter One

January 8th 2012

Clark

Clark found the corner of his lip tug into a smirk. He pushed the bridge of his glasses up his nose reflexively, religiously, blinked and continued to proof read the article in hand. He heard the tail end of Lois Lane's: 'Got it Chief.' And like clockwork Perry's bellow followed Lois into the bull room: 'Don't call me chief!'

Slender long fingers, one encased around a white gold band with two clusters of diamonds formed around a small opal, snatched the bunch of papers from him. He levelled his blue orbs on a usually brown pair that danced with overpowering green flecks in their sockets, at him.

Lois lane's accompanying smile was as disarming and wonderful as the feel of her arm loop into his own.

She whirled him around towards the elevator, leaving the hustle and bustle of the bull pen.

'Thanks doll, you're a peach,' she began in her best civil war re-enactment. She stabbed the call button pointing upwards, and then sent him a grave look, 'but give it to me straight, how many mistakes did you pick out, because I worked really hard to smooth out all the nooks and crannies. And you know after four plus years on the job if I haven't improved under your tutelage by now; then I'm reporting you to the police, sir.'

Clark closed lipped shook with mirth as they walked into the empty elevator. The urge to roll his eyes teetered on his person. As the brown doors closed he felt the arm once looped around his, intertwine their fingers together. They had a few seconds of privacy before it was expanded onto the floor of their shared office. She knocked shoulders with him, rested there and waited in expectant silence.

He leaned in conspiratorially, his hot breath brushed the curve of her ear leaving a shudder to vibrate through the both of them. 'And what use would Superman be in jail, just because Clark Kent skipped over the word 'maleficent' for the word 'malcontent'?' The elevator pinged open. Clark's shoulders relaxed as they stepped onto the floor. 'If I didn't know any better Miss Lane, I'd think you had a personal vendetta against me?'

Lois released his hand and opened the door labelled "Lois Lane and Clark Kent" on it, sat down in her swivel chair and twirled.

'Looks like it Smallville. You better avoid news report announcements saying, Clark Kent's made one glaring mistake."

'Is that right?'

'Uh yeah,' she said, and brandished the first page at him across their desks pointing a finger at the offensive error.

Clark's zeroed in on the by-line: Lois Lane – Kent, Daily Planet (The prettiest Kent of them all).

She snorted, and kicked off to rotate in a circle. 'I'm kind of offended Clark, I thought we all agreed the mutt with his brown eyes was the true looker in the family.'

By the time she faced him and stopped, she had full access to his opulent azure eyes gleaming with unabashed triumph.

She offered him – if possible for Mad dog Lane – a demure shrug of the shoulder.

'Lois Lane- Kent, huh? It does have a nice ring to it.'

'Wearing one of the two rings that accompanies the title, does bring a smile to a girl's lips. '

He booted his laptop on, typed his password and—

'Clark!' Lois yelled, the article fluttered to the floor and she slammed her palms on her desk. And though her eyes scanned wildly over their desks, the man sat in the empty chair was gone.

* * *

If he had been a lesser man — a human — the whiplash of being moved one place to another would have, he was very sure, made him vomit. Instead he staggered slightly, grateful for the support of the ice pillar that caught his fall.

An autonomous voice bounced off the ice walls of the fortress with mechanical familiarity: 'Welcome my son.'

Clark moved off the pillar, straightened, and moved to slip his glasses into his back pocket when his fingers ran down the bridge of his nose. Of course — he thought absently to himself— he'd left them on his desk at the planet … along with Lois.

'Father…why have you brought me here?' he voiced, his mind very much on the teasing eyes of Lois Lane saying she could live with the hyphenated badge of "Lois Lane – Kent".

'Kal-El, an anomaly has occurred in our timeline, to the casual human eye it is but another incident within the moving sphere of criminal activity. For you and your league of Justice—' Clark thought rather bitingly, (that Oliver would have a cow if he ever heard the name re-associated by the disembodied voice of his father. At least the name 'Super friends' hadn't been used or then he and Bruce would have shared a similar look of displeasure on their faces). 'This singular blip could cause, dare I say it, a world saving scale of catastrophe.'

While Clark's eyes cast down with grave solemnity, his curious mind jumped from the thought that Jor-El must have been spending too much time educating Lois on their Kryptonian history and she was finally rubbing off on him; and swiftly moved succinctly to the dire consequence that could bring upon world destruction.

'What is this problem Jor-El? What's gone wrong?'

'Six months into the future, in Keystone City, a gang of three teenagers will gun down a heavily pregnant woman leaving her shift at the coffee shop called Jitters.'

Clark's jaw clenched and unclenched in time with his fists.

'The unidentified woman will be identified by CSI Raymond Thawne as Lori Strauss, the mother to the successor of the helmet of Nabu.'

Stood in the artic, shoes and baggy trousers drenched in snow, Clark heard the pounding of his heart accelerate at an exceptional pace. If he'd been human, he'd suspected he'd be suffering a heart attack.

'Doctor fate—'

'Nabu has lain dormant for over a year for his successor to be born. It would be best to send you back, so you can save Kent Nelson.'

A twinge of annoyance welled up in his throat at being cut off. But having lived and worked with Lois for most of his life, he focused on what his father had said.

'Send me back? Why would you send me back in time, wouldn't sending me forwards be better? More practical?'

'The birth has been set in date, but even then, if you save the woman and child from their untimely demise, the child would be at a loss when Nabu confronts him; without proper guidance, the young Strauss could very easily be corrupted with power or implode due to the powers of Nabu into the equivalent mass of an atomic bomb.'

'And no reasoning… '

'It would be better to not chance something like that, Kal-El.'

Clark nodded distractedly looking off further into the fortress.

'Nelson was killed by Icicle and maybe I wasn't there at the time, Clark Kent circa 2010 was, what if I inadvertently cross paths with my doppelgänger?'

Jor-El – Clark was very sure now had been spending too much time with Lois, because — he felt the voice with no face smirk at him.

In response Clark rolled his eyes as Jor-El who answered him in an all to knowing tone, said: 'You would take his place, the body of Kal-El aged twenty- three would become your own, mind aged twenty -four and all its foreknowledge intact.'

A sigh escaped Clark's lips as he absorbed all his father had said, he would be travelling back in time. Leaving ... a life he had forged as Clark Kent, bumbling reporter at the Daily Planet; fiancée to Pulitzer prize winner Lois Lane; son of senator Kent and his well-constructed alter ego: Superman, red cape, broad shoulders, and the ability to fly (probably) behind, to save Doctor Fate.

When he'd last talked to Kent— and the irony was not lost on him — Kent Nelson had told Clark that he would bring about the age of silver aged heroes and finally reveal himself to the world. And he had. The league was recruiting new members at a rapid pace — two weeks ago, he and Bruce had, had an encounter with an Amazonian princess, gone head to head with her and faired rather well against her. Superman was being accepted by not only the citizens of Metropolis but the world. And all the while in the back crevices of his mind Nelson's words echoed there. And now there was a chance to save him and bring him too into this world Clark and the others like Chloe, Oliver, Bruce were forming into shape.

'So, I'll be going back a year from now?'

That wouldn't be so bad. Maybe after saving Nelson, he could speed the process of Lois finding out about him, deal with the Kandorians faster, preserve the Kandorian version of his father's life, and not get stabbed. The world would still have Superman but faster, he could figure out how Lex Luthor was walking around without a daylight ring. (He reminded himself to tell Lois, that watching Vampire Diaries was dissolving his brain cells at a rapid rate and because of this, he would have to stop watching immediately).

'Further, younger I believe.' Said Jor-El breaking through his thoughts.

Clark blinked owlishly at the voice and soon a frown marred his features.

'Earlier?' he repeated, now sounding like a parrot.

'The earlier you meet Kent Nelson, the safer he will be. Kent Nelson much like Carter Hall after the death of his wife became a recluse. With little people to interact with and only the power of Nabu to keep him company, his human mind began to take a toll. The tumour back then was sustainable and treatable. But then too, a friend, an ally would do him well.'

An image of a young boy with too bright green eyes twinkling up at him, with a mop of brown hair and freckles; with the beginnings of adoration and love bore into Clark's mind. As Clark blinked back the moisture in his eyes; Ryan, whose story was not to dissimilar from Nelson's had died in a cold hospital bed from cancer. And Kent Nelson, with the sword of Damocles hung over his head could be taken out by cancer too. The image of Ryan, Kent Nelson and dare he say it — his dad — flashed in quick succession in his mind.

'How old will I be when I go back?'

'Fourteen, the beginning. It would be the most prudent time to situate you my son.'

'I could save a lot of lives, couldn't I?' there was an echo in his words, an incessant tinny in his own voice that reminded him of the fourteen-year-old who had begun their journey not so long ago. Of the boy — if he agreed to this new journey his father had set forth — he'd be returning too.

Jor-El knew as he almost ever did what he was thinking, though know where near as omniscient as Clark had once suspected in his younger years, (with the exception of this moment and his ominous announcement about Lori Strauss), Clark was sure in his artificial state that Jor-El had the ability to X-ray his thoughts.

Jor-El telescoped in on the different people — who weren't Kent Nelson—flashing in Clark's mind. He rather easily projected the images of Whitney Fordman, Alicia Baker, Lionel Luthor, Jimmy Olsen and Carter Hall in front of him. Despite his imperviousness towards the cold, he felt a chill roll down his spine. He knew who would appear next, Jor-El did too, and yet the A.I seemed to hesistate, (static flickered in front of Clark's solem gaze).

'Jonathan Kent — yes. Yes, in this new time line there would be a greater possibility to retain a long life for him.' Maybe Clark just wanted to hear it, but Jor-El almost sounded guilty. There were no eyes to ascertain this, but he knew in his secret of hearts — that Jor-El knew that having lost one father, that the loss of his second one left him with a feeling of … abandonment.

Clark shook his head, it was a stupid thought, Jonathan Kent; blue eyed, dirty blond hair, fond of worn jeans, work boots and thick jackets they swapped between all three occupants of the Kent household, had loved him fiercely. And probably still did, and would once Clark met him in his afterlife abode.

'Lois — in the new timeline would I still end up… or … I mean, could I take —' his own inquisitions startled him, he blinked rather violently before fixing his eyes down on the crystals.

'What about Mrs. Lane- Kent?'

Jor-El truly was full of surprises today, Clark worked hard on schooling his features so that surprise did not take precedence. He still felt the collective flush of embarrassment and pleasure blot his cheeks. Reporter Clark Kent reared his curious head as Clark rubbed the back of his neck, his left hand absent of any ring that announced to the world that Lois Lane had added the suffix of his surname.

'Lois and I aren't married.'

If Jor-El could blink, Clark would have laughed at his expression. Instead Jor-El said: 'According to my records Kal- El, Mrs Lane-Kent is set to enter in a life partnership with you.'

Clark nodded. Though just not yet. The reason Lois had even been in Perry's office was as a ploy, in conquest for another by-line hog on an article about Superman, when in fact she'd been asking him to walk her down the aisle as a back-up in case the General was pulled away, by the government. Lois hating awkward silences — especially self-induced ones — had cracked her: 'Good Chief' or 'Sure Chief,', one of those variants to ease the air. But the wedding that wasn't for another …

'Lois Lane… Kent, Kal-El according to my scans of several timelines has been primarily known to go by either Lois Lane-Kent, or Lois Kent… loving wife of Clark 'Kal-El' Kent, mother of –-'

'Mo-Mother…' he stuttered. When had he last stuttered … (Clark the reporter, had this morning, when ordering a solid caffeine imbued cup of coffee from he and Lois' favourite shop), he wished Jor-El would stop throwing him for a loop.

It had always been a worry for them, his alien physiology might have granted him special abilities, but Clark to his core was what he'd been made: the guy who'd fashioned himself worthy of a wife, two kids, a home and a white picket fence.

He'd veered too far off the traditional route when he'd hoped Lana could fulfil the role as wife. But Lois … his Lois … she'd let him reach for her, she continued to gleam and glow in front of him (like the green light in Gatsby) and allowed him to capture her some years ago, with no apology or shame in her eyes. He was touched that in the new future, perhaps they could complete their picture of the American dream, with a kid or two.

Clark's indulgent smile faded as he remembered their whole conversation had originated in talk of the past … not the future.

'She couldn't come with me.'

'No, Kal-El. Though she is destined to bore your children and continue the House of El, she is still human; her physiology can only withstand so much. I'm afraid my son that this would be a journey you'd have to take on your own.'

'So, I'd be alone again?' a bitter laugh escaped his lips. It seemed he could never win, even being able to retain his memories and personality of this time by his father, he'd be keeping two secrets this time around. At least he knew he would be able to share his original secret about being an alien with those he trusted faster. But this new secret: being a time traveller … that would be a new burden to carry.

'What about you, you're not human, would you remember … could I tell you, or would that be breaking some cardinal time travel rule?'

The artic wind tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, whistled between the crystals on the console and reminded him, how his life, despite the inclusion of Lois, the Planet, his mom, Chloe, Oliver, Bruce and the growing league — could still leave him feeling alone.

'Much like the internet, once information has been uploaded the ability to retrieve information would never be out of reach. I would be able to remember this timeline … I would be able to converse with you, though absent of flesh and blood. This version of myself, I hope my son will inspire an ease and confidence in you that I lacked during our first two runs of this timeline.'

Clark nodded. Then shook his head and made quick sense of his actions: 'My parents will have to know who I am, that I'm Clark Kent circa 2012, it would be too confusing and tiresome to act like me at fourteen, they'd be able to sense something different in how I act. Do I have your permission?'

He and Jor-El ignore the underlying demand in his words and forwarded on.

'It would be the best approach, too much responsibility of your shoulders would damage you, and we have already seen how that strain can affect you.'

Clark nodded, feeling a flutter of ease encompass him.

He had one last question to ask.

'My powers … will I have to relearn them all over again — I mean I will remember everything, but will I take my abilities with me or…'

He felt like a child asking his father if he could take his favourite dog —

Shelby — with them on their road trip to Central city. He'd grown fond of his powers over the years, thanks to the encouragement of his friends and family … and it'd make everything so damn easier. But of course, even Clark 'Kal-El' Kent, just couldn't have it easy.

'You'd still have to relearn your powers, they developed with your body, your extra-terrestrial form of puberty.' Clark refused to believe the expression currently on his face was a sulk. 'However, your ability to fly, was always with you at fourteen. I believe you once told me you floated once at that age. Whatever your trigger was then, use it the same when there.'

A slow smile filled with serenity pulled at his lips: 'Lois.' he breathed. And since Jor-El had all but told him he would always find her, he would be able to go back, and know that they would get back to this day (or some form of it) teasing her about her additional suffix of Kent.

'Okay, when do I go… or do I get to say goodbye?' he knew his last wish was unlikely to occur but Clark could hope.

In answer a swirl of white light appeared four strides away from him.

'It is time, Kal-El.'

It was time and still as Clark walked slowly forwards he wanted to say goodbye to his mother, Chloe, Oliver, Bruce and most of all Lois as he felt the surprisingly warm licks of the portal consume him. But then he realised he'd be saying hello to them all too very soon.

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Author's Note:

Hi, I usually write Vampire diaries fan fiction, but this idea popped into my head and I had to 'pen this down'. I'm a huge Clois fan since I was a kid, and continue to be. I don't know how you guys will take to this but I will try and get an update to you soon. Of course, this is an AU time travel fiction so a lot of things will be shaken up, with light of the new DCTV universe, I will incorporate some of those changes to this new timeline.

Please review, fave and follow.

I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter.

Greekgeekable


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All rights reserved to the CW, Smallville and Warner Brothers.**

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Chapter Two

Smallville, Kansas, 2001

Clark

Clark had always been tall for his age. At fourteen he had stopped growing; he was an inch taller than his dad, all limbs and legs, uncoordinated (only ever around Lana's kryptonite necklace) and, at that moment one of his long legs hung precariously off the side of his bed. He jerked up his bed with a loud snort, he had slept through the cockerels call for the dawn, and punched his pillow in an attempt to fluff it up.

He rolled onto his side and made his right arm into a makeshift pillow. With his spare hand he patted the bed in search of the missing heat signature — usually snuggled into his chest before the blare of an alarm clock woke them up.

Behind his eyelids he was groggy but awake. He slowed his exploration of the dimensions of his bed when his hand found the edge quicker than usual.

When he and Lois needed a break from the Planet, they always had the farm. He'd known it was silly when his mom had transferred the deed to the house to him, but he hadn't had the heart to take the master bedroom.

Much like her approach to campaign management, sleuthing and singing — a habit she'd gradually allowed him to indulge in, when listening into her showers (with or without super hearing) — she dabbled in interior design. They shared a moderately sized king.

No — king size bed here, he peaked under lashes at the all too familiar blue covers laid on top of him and felt a warm slap of nostalgia wash over him. He could smell the lavender and camomile detergent his mom was all to use to using.

He sat up in bed rubbing a hand through his hair and then over his face, and reached for his bedside table, before drawing his hand back admonishingly. No — his glasses wouldn't be there, it wasn't like he needed them (yet). He was, (he planted his feet on the hardwood floor and approached his mirror) fourteen again.

Maybe it was due to his alien physiology but the most ageing he had done in ten years was fill out his lean frame, and tease Lois with the appearance of stubble every now and again. But the same brilliant blue eyes, and mass of tussled raven locks looked back at him. He wore his trusty grey t-shirt and bedroom sweats. He cast a quick look to the calendar on his cork board and felt a frisson of excitement run down his back: it was 2001, definitely, no denying that.

He tried to think back to what he'd been doing around this time … Probably his chores or daydreaming about Lana Lang — wow, that hadn't been a name he'd thought about in some years, after the kryptonite suit debacle, he'd almost forgotten about her until he'd received a phone call giving him an update about her superheroisms around the world. He drew open the curtains when the sound of his mom's voice filtered upstairs to his sensitive ears: 'Clark Kent, you're going to miss the bus!'

His eyes flicked to his alarm clock, and yes, he was late. He darted to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, had a shower, threw some clothes he vaguely remembered wearing, and was about to leave his room, before he saw the permission slip for try-outs sitting lamely on his desk.

As he walked onto the landing, his thoughts drew back to the letter and how his need to play football had been a point of contention in the Kent household for what … three more years until Lois —

Clark's foot hovered on top the first step, ready to descend, when a man who stood around six feet three, with clipped dirty blonde hair, worn jeans, work boots and one of Clark's favourite brown borg jackets, paused at the bottom of the staircase and smiled up at him.

'Come on son, your mother's right, you're going to miss the bus if you don't hurry.'

At the sight of Johnathan Kent, with lungs breathing, eyes shining, and heart beating, Clark froze and lost his footing. He fell down the stairs. His dad jumped out of his way before using his arms to break Clark's fall. Clark was grateful for his invulnerability as he heard his mother and father's collective gasps of: 'Clark, are you alright?!'

Half in a daze, he nodded, but shook his head at their offered hands of assistance, to busy trying to drink in their youthful—and his father (living) — appearances.

Martha Kent, crouched in front of him, lovely blue eyes shone with motherly care that had never wavered in his presence. Her hair devoid of the permeation of grey, was thick and auburn. She'd clipped it back in a half back style. A warm loving smile filled her face and Clark was reminded of her cooking, her hugs and her unmoveable strength that had not waned through her second election and Jonathan's death.

Johnathan Kent wore a fractured look of concern and worry on his brow, unlike his doppelgänger on earth two, his hair was fully blond and a wedding band sat on his left hand. But most of all, confidence and pride radiated off him and enveloped Clark. Clark couldn't help it, he threw his weight on his parents as he hugged them with each arm.

He could feel their shock and confusion travel through them as they returned his hug somewhat awkwardly. But seeing them both, alive and well, brought home the true realisation of what he had done: he could change everything for the better.

The thought of Clark being late for school was pushed out of their minds as Martha rested a palm on Clark's forehead to check his temperature. All three Kent's knew he never fell ill — he was impervious of course, unless close to kryptonite (though his parents wouldn't have put a name to it yet).

'I don't see any blood, but still, do you feel dizzy at all?' asked his mom, who got her way by helping him to his feet. He towered over her petite five feet four frame and rubbed the back of his head shyly. (There goes bumbling Clark Kent, reporter rearing his head again. — or was it now the rearing head of an adjusting fourteen-year-old Clark taking precedence).

'What happened, son?' asked his dad, following Clark and his wife to the dinner table. The cereal box sat on the counter and in the distance, he heard the bus rolling up.

They were meant to be talking about the football team and his need to be normal. But Clark had a feeling this would be the segway he needed to talk about his usurpation of his past history. It had been relatively painless; a lack of headaches, fainting or time traveling induced comas. When he'd travelled to his future during his high school reunion, no physical ailments had plagued him … except the experience of shock hitting him at every corner he turned …. Clark was grateful the likelihood of interacting with himself was reduced to zero. This would already be a surreal experience. His pain and punishment he knew would come: in the form of longing. He may have his parents now, whole and mettlesome, but there were certain people he already missed by his side: and even worse the anticipation was gnawing at him. Chloe and Pete would re-enter his life Act 1 scene 2 after he'd finish interacting with his parents, and he had to wonder how well he'd be able to play the part of unsure teenager without the urge to telescope on the aspects of their personalities of their future selves to shine through.

Clark shook his head. His dad took the seat next to him, and scanned him with concern as he rested a hand on his shoulder. They both had blue eyes— something he'd held onto both before and after he had found out he was adopted. Jonathan's were a cornfield blue kind sky, the kind of blue that moved with a warm breeze and a moderate invasion of golden rays. Clark's were of the scattered stars that fractured the night sky, each star that pulsed made up the intense cast of his blue gaze — but at that moment a shudder ran down Clark's spine as their eyes locked. Jonathan Kent was real and tangible, the feel of his hand was warm and heavy, something almost surreal for the time traveller. Clark's teeth skimmed his bottom lip, the wish to say something like: "I've missed you, so much," teetered on the ledge of his tongue.

His mom moved to make a cup of tea. And, at that moment he wished Lois was there with him, she would open up with a witty- poorly time barb and he would somehow be able to meander the truth somewhere from there.

He shook his head, despite how much he missed Lois, these were his parents and they had always had a brilliant relationship right up until the end.

'You surprised me,' he said dumbly. He blinked, repeating his words over in his head, wondering where his tact, or common sense had gone. He'd probably left them in the future.

'How would I manage that Clark, you saw me yesterday. And I hate to break it to you, son, but I do live here,' his dad joked.

A soft prick of pain stabbed his heart, but he pushed it away as well as straightening up in his seat.

'I wanted to ask you if I could join the football team—'

A sigh slipped out of Jonathan Kent's mouth: 'Now son, we've talked about this, it's not that we don't trust you, it's just—'

'But that no longer aligns with my goal for today.' Clark said watching his mom place a supportive hand on his dad's shoulder. A small indulgent smile flashed on his face as he noticed Grandma Jessica's wedding band, passed onto him by his mom to give to Lois.

'The irony of the conversation to come, believe me is not lost on me,' his baritone becoming more apparent, his blue eyes softening, a look of ease morphing on the pubescent face that seemed to elicit the same expression of awe and consideration Superman conjured on the citizens of Metropolis. It was somewhat off putting to see these expressions directed at him by his parents: his parents who had become so at ease with his strange quirks.

'Clark?' Jonathan Kent breathed, definite wonder embedded in his tone. His eyes roamed over the image his son presented. Here sat a boy with a rucksack slung over his shoulder, the afterthought to brush wild tousled locks forgotten and gleaming blue eyes transfigured into something… other. It was ironic of him to think… but this alien thing had nothing to do with his son's genealogy, it was the way he sat, arm resting assuredly on dinner table, a reassuring combination of confidence and almost… peace radiating off the six-foot four frame leaned towards him: was that of a man.

'I don't want to rile any of you. So, it would be best if you both sit down. It would be brilliant if you both approached this like you always do… when I get a new power or I do something not normal, I know you will anyway— that's what makes you great parents. But all the same, please take what I'm about to say with great consideration.'

'Sweetie—' began his mom.

He shook his head, wishing he had his glasses to clean so he wouldn't see the same recognition in her eyes. She could tell like his dad, that whoever was talking: this Clark Kent was a distant double from the fourteen-year-old who worried about fitting in at school.

'Yesterday when I woke up, I'm guessing I was worried about high school, my nine-year crush on a girl who I could never get two steps up to before falling down, and my developing 'gifts' (as you called them). And today, I woke up, in a lanky body, without my glasses on my bedside table, with no need to go to my workplace, and ... foreknowledge of the last ten years of my life intact.'

A mixture of confusion, shock, slight horror and continued awe filled their expressions, and despite all attempts to man his heart, a cold splash of loneliness chilled him to his core— in this brief period of consideration he would be standing on a precipice of belonging and rejection.

'What? What, are you talking about Clark?' his dad said shaking his head slowly.

Clark leaned in further into his dad's personal space, his expression unwavering: 'I know the spaceship that I was sent in twelve years ago is stashed in our storm cellar. I know when you found me it wasn't exactly on a dirt road … I found you … I was sent to you … we found each other — well, my spaceship as you said mom caused you to crash and I crawled up to you and tore the car door off. I know you adopted me off the grid too … you also had tulips in the car….'

'Clark, son … uh how… who told you all this? What's going on here? Clark!' he yelled, glaring at him. 'Where's my son! What have you done to my son!'

'Dad,' Clark said shaking his head profusely. 'I am Clark Kent, son of Jor-El and Lara Van- El, my birthparents sent me to Smallville, because our home planet, Krypton was destroyed. As their only son, they hoped Hiram Kent, someone who'd shown kindness once to Jor-El could show that same kindness to his son. And you both have … for twenty-four years you gave me all the love and tutelage I needed to ground me on this earth. All the morals and training that Jor-El (the A.I— I'll explain that later) couldn't. To put it simple I'm from the future, and I know everything about myself now.'

A pregnant silence permeated the bright dining room, the same way the sun's rays seemed determined to fracture through the kitchen windows. In the distance Clark heard the bus rolling away, fairly sure Pete had just won a bet against Chloe. He almost let a nostalgic smile appear on his face until he reminded himself, this was his present and his silent— perhaps, the better description was: shell-shocked parents stared at him.

'Twenty- four, you say?' rasped his father. Clark's gaze slammed back towards his and Jonathan almost jumped: there was his boy, the unsure fourteen-year-old who leaned rather heavily on him, that needed him. But then he shook his head and looked at Clark harder. No— the man looking at him was still this alien Clark, this twenty -four-year-old who seemed a ghost of the fourteen-year-old that needed him. And this ghost was haunting. His eyes trembled with a yearning, a need to be…

Jonathan Kent scraped his chair back, the weight of Martha's hand leaving his shoulder, to round the table and pull this man, this stranger whose eyes blazed with the same love and adoration Clark Kent retained for a certain farmer Jonathan Kent, into a hug.

Clark sank into the hug like he used to, his arms absorbing the man he'd missed so dearly. He ducked his head childishly against his shoulder and began to break down. Tears rolled down his face as the feeling of acceptance pulsated in the room. His mom was soon at his side, and for such a tiny woman she seemed to shrink both six feet three men in her grip.

When he'd come out of Luthorcorp after a field-trip (the same trip he'd be going on again in the next few weeks), they'd shared a hug like this that day too. 'I love you guys,' he said, his voice muffled. And he knew that they knew, his other secret, he'd tried to hide it so well, but he was their open book left on an armrest: one of them had left him, one of them had died. They may not know at what point in time, but the mixture of pain and satisfaction radiating off their son was enough for both of them to make a secret promise: that this time around they'd try their damnedest to stay.

* * *

'Would it be okay to tell us why you're here? Or how you got here? Or would it best to ask, why now at this point in time. I know this is Smallville and it's not like abnormal things don't happen in this town but— oh my gosh, Clark, this seems almost insignificant now, but are you going to school or should I call you in ill?" said Martha, holding onto her son's hand as they shared space on the sofa. With Clark in the middle each parent crowded his space— but he didn't mind too much.

He ran a hand lazily through his hair and said: 'School … I knew when I agreed to this I'd be going back, and I was lucky I'd prepacked my bags and everything… but the fact you just said that makes it seem real… all this feel real.' He flashed her a dazzling smile that matured his face; the glow of the man inside shone through— he was someone, dare she think it, beautiful to observe. 'I'll go in, I've definitely missed the bus, but I could always fly in and catch up to Chloe and Pete — I mean run there. Flying would be a bit ostentatious and at least when I run I look like a blur.'

'Fly?' she croaked.

'Oh yeah, my birth father, as I told you, Jor-El told me my powers develop in time, their apparent of puberty. You don't have to worry though, nothing new is happening for a few weeks now — X-ray vision,' he said addressing his father's curious look. 'But anyway, you wanted to know why I'm here. In the year 2012 I was sent back by the computerised artificial version of my birth father, Jor-El. The year before a friend of mine was murdered and he carried a great responsibility that became a concern for the earth's longevity according to Jor-El's calculations. He thinks, Jor-El, that If I have more time to save Kent Nelson, the man who was murdered and befriend him at this age I can change the future for the better.'

'So, you've come back and sacrificed … just left your life behind … whatever life you had built for yourself … to save this one man, Clark?' breathed his father.

'And the world,' Clark added.

'Would you be able to go back?' asked his mom.

He'd known even before he walked through the portal, that changes would come, that whatever course point he would reconstruct for himself in this new future, would be his own now.

'No.'

'Oh Clark?' she bemoaned.

Clark quickly squeezed her hand, a reassured smile shone in his eyes. 'In the scheme of things, you guys, told me what I could do was my gift. It took me ten years to hone all my powers: super-speed, super-breath, invulnerability, super-strength, X-ray vision, heat vision (an almost conspiratorial smile featured on his face), telescopic vision, micro vision, super dexterity and more, ten years to come to terms with my Kryptonian origin and my fear of loneliness. I'm not at the beginner's line this time and the fact I know that this time I can go even further. If I save Kent Nelson this time, maybe I can try and fix some of the mistakes I've made last time around. Yes, I am giving up a life I once had … but… if the universe wants something to happen it will, and if Jor-El has his way about it, I'll be out saving the world a lot earlier than last time. I'm ready.'

Tears wet Martha's eyes as she cupped her son's face. He was so selfless, her beautiful boy: 'Who was she?'

His smile was radiant, his smile was glorious and it was enamoured.

'My soulmate ma; everything I will ever need— and I'll find her again … apparently I always do.'

'No name?' Martha teased.

He smirked back at her: 'I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise.'

'When do you think you'll start looking for this Nelson character, Clark?' voiced his dad.

Clark cocked his head to the side for a moment, and said slowly: 'After school …after I've run some errands. I wouldn't want to do it alone, when Jor-El could help… but of course I'd need the fortress up and maybe do some recruiting… that would be good… either get Ollie or Bruce on my side… unless … (then Clark looked to the newspaper on the coffee table) … no he's back now… probably training … probably twenty-one and a pain the ass. And then one of them could help me with— I'll just have a lot to do. The least I can do today is make an appearance at school, re-establish my relationships with Chloe and Pete.' He knew most of what he had said would have flown over his parent's heads, but he drew them into a hug and said: 'I promise we will talk in more detail when I get back from school, after I've found the crystals, maybe Jor-El could help simplify everything if you want… I get that everything I'm saying sounds really crazy.'

'Perhaps,' his father teased, 'but we trust you to explain everything in full. From what your showing me we raised a good kid. But before you go (for Clark had stood up and hug them one last time before he rushed to school) can't we get anything, any little … let's say happy detail about your future beside the fact you've found your soulmate.'

An impish smile appeared on Clark's face as he picked up his rucksack from the kitchen/dining room, his words travelling back to his parents: 'You never did sign my permission slip as it has it.' He popped his head back in to see their unamused expressions— God, it sounded weird to admit this, but, man did he miss those looks. Chuckling he opened the front door and looked over his shoulder at his parents: 'Her name is Lois… Lois Lane, she saved my life once, and we're engaged.'

* * *

As Clark righted his rucksack on his shoulder and balanced his stack of books in his other hand, he realised he had actually failed to get his permission slip signed. It would have been a help (probably) when avoiding the scarecrow thing.

It was a warm day— even though he never sweat, but he could feel the heat licking his skin. He rounded the gate and saw two familiar figures clustered together. He approached them at a human pace, hearing the tail end of their conversation. He was pleased that Chloe would be going to the dance with Pete. He wondered now, that with foresight, what her eyes would look like when they were in love with him … how they looked and gave away all their hidden secrets.

'Hey guys,' he breathed and watched, while standing in the throng of teenagers loitering, the two most important people in his social sphere turn to him, confusion— and in Chloe's case inquisition— blossom on their faces.

Furrowed brows fought over piercing green eyes to dominate on her features, asking: 'Wait, how did you get here so fast? Weren't you? — uh—'

'Isn't it obvious I flew?' He said bold facedly. Finally, Chloe's brows won in their ultimate fight with her eyes. This was Chloe Sullivan at fourteen: spiky layered blonde hair with a few strands streaked red or purple, vibrant viridian eyes and a wicked tongue. What was he going to do with the Sullivan-Lane clan? —

'Clark, you're going to have to forgive our intrepid reporter. Her weirdar is on death con five,' said Pete, steering him around towards the entrance.

Clark chuckled low under his breath, once again Chloe was on the money.

He saw her rush to his side, more petite than ever, devoid of her pencil skirts and high heels, and replaced by clunky boots and mid length skirts. She was kind of … uh earthy back then — in his future — Mrs. Chloe Sullivan- Queen … Well he could see the makings of the woman she'd become.

Perhaps it had been a shame he hadn't seen the beauty in her at this age, but she was too similar to Lois, and while Chloe had been softer? Lois had been brash and he needed—

'… just because weird things happen in this tiny little hamlet, doesn't mean they shouldn't be questioned?' she reasoned.

'Are you saying that I fall into the status of weird? How high a percentage do I hold on your radar, Chlo?' he teased.

'Chlo? Wait, Clark when have you ever call me "Chlo" unless you've been hanging around my cousin… which would be impossible because—'

'Pete, did you get your parents to sign your permission slip?' Cut in Clark, internally berating his slip up and Chloe's astuteness. Because of course he had been hanging out with Lois for far too long. For a moment while teasing her, he'd seen his best friend of ten years who knew everything, who was married to one of his best friends, in charge of Watchtower, asking him if it'd be okay to name him a potential godfather to any of her future children. So, he hadn't been able to separate the two … yes, they were the same person. Only at different life stages, with different perspectives on life, and different concepts of Clark Kent.

'Yeah, did you?' asked Pete, Clark turned his gaze from his five-foot four future cousin in law to a friend who he wondered now, would move to Wichita this time around. Pete generously was five inches taller than Chloe, but that was really Clark stretching it, with a stocky build. He knew everything about Pete … well in the future, they had reconnected after Superman had debuted, and spent one weekend a month in either Metropolis or Wichita.

'Yeah… no… we had a major family emergency and I kind of forgot.'

'What the cows finally dare I say it "throw a cow"?' said Chloe.

Clark worked hard on not snorting too loudly— damn Lois and her trenchant wit… or was it simply, now that he didn't have the weight on the world on his shoulders, that joke hadn't flown over his head.

'Clark, man come on, you know this is the only way, right?'

'Yeah, I get that, it's just … we got until tonight… it sounds lame but if we don't make a big deal of ourselves … or you know don't make ourselves that obvious we could coast through this day without being the scarecrow.'

'Scarecrow?' parroted Chloe.

'It's a homecoming tradition, every year before the big game the seniors pick a freshman and string him up in the field and paint an s on his chest.'

'Oh my god, that's barbaric.'

'And Clark is pursuing his suicide death pact all by himself,' said Pete, his voice fading into the distance, as Clark absently looked to his side and froze.

For almost seventeen years of his life he had been obsessed with one woman. With foresight, that is only what it could be called — those feelings he had. It wasn't that he hadn't anticipated the arrival of Lana Lang to enter not only into his periphery but his life all over again; it was just now the impact she had on his nervous system was jarring. She really was beautiful — with a waif like quality to her features. She had been carved into creation with careful care — delicate was the operative word: delicate nose, lips, hazel eyes and shining black hair. She was as tall as Chloe or his mom. She was gorgeous. (Clark began walking forward, a murmured: 'I'll see you guys in class' left his lips.) But Clark's heart did not stumble over each beat, in his reassessment of her. Fourteen-year old Clark had fallen head line and sinker for her beauty, and it wasn't to say she didn't have a loving nature (at this time, for she did). But Clark had eight years rapport with the teenage girl who had shown damaging streaks of jealousy, greed and ingenuity. His mom hadn't said it, but after she had left him with only a video recording as goodbye, Lana Lang had been detrimental in his progress as a man and his progress as Superman.

He did not want her like he had once upon a time. Someone else, someone powerful consumed his mind on a daily basis, someone who uplifted him without even trying as though it was second nature to her. But he did realise being civil, maintaining perhaps this time the 'friendship" he had harped on about to everyone around this year of his life, with Lana, could do them both some good. Maybe, he could save her from the deterioration of Lana Lang, formally known as Lana Luthor. Because even though Clark loved to blame Lex for the power-hungry girlfriend he'd reunited with at twenty-one, Clark knew he'd contributed to the damage as well. And maybe without the foundation of romance, she could find her purpose —

Clark stumbled, so in his thoughts he'd forgotten about her damn kryptonite necklace. Over the ten years of his previous lifetime he had built up a 'tolerance' for green kryptonite. He did not inject it like a vaccine, but with the help of Lois by his side, and Bruce (ironically, who kept the damn thing on him in a lead compartment of his utility belt) had told him not to restrain himself so much. Clark was grateful that this time around all he did was stumble.

'Damn-it, what happened to statistical facts, I thought he couldn't get five feet of Lana…' he heard Chloe ask Pete.

Lana's brilliant hazel eyes were glued to him when she approached. Clark frowned wondering what could draw her to him this time around. He hadn't fallen… but his book had, she bent down and handed him, his copy of: 'Nietzsche … I didn't realise you had a dark side, Clark.'

A low chuckle left his lips before he answered. 'Don't we all?'

She was staring at him… differently, maybe the first time around she had been … let's face it pitying. But there was an intrigued hunger disclosed in the sparkle of her eye: the look sometimes women got when they stared up at Superman.

He purposely ran a hand through his hair, if he remembered right, the only reason he'd been strung up in the god- forsaken field was because of Whitney's jealousy.

'Yeah, I guess so,' she said clicking her pen against her clip board. 'So, what are you, man or superman?'

He took a step back from her, eyes looking back at her necklace and before he could answer and say: "Both." Whitney Fordman, a few inches shorter than Clark, with blonde hair, blue eyes, your a-typical jock with a severe streak of jealousy attached to himself, bent his head down and kissed Lana.

Nothing. He felt nothing: originally It been done to intimidate him, mark his ownership over Lana. Clark took two more steps back, creating as much distance as politely possible as they rambled on about some English paper. Once he was far away, he looked back at them, amusement dancing in his gaze. Whitney had nothing to worry about.

Clark's eyes flashed to a figure in a grey hoodie, blue jeans and sneakers walking up the stairs. Admittedly he was inconspicuous, but Clark had time on his side. The boy could have been anybody, and he probably would have been: if Jeremy Creek hadn't decided to go on a crazy vengeance mission on those who'd strung him up in the field twelve years ago.

'Hey, Dude, are you okay? You look kind of …worried,' said the voice of Whitney infiltrating his thoughts.

Clark nodded, knowing before he 'ran his errands' he had to sort out the meteor-infected problem and maybe … get a story out of it for the Torch. He bypassed Lana and Whitney without a second thought and walked up the stairs to re-engage with the next four years of high school.

He reminded himself, when appropriate to hug and kiss the hell out of Lois for somehow managing to go through her last year of high school all over again.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hi Guys, I don't think you know the battle I had to go through to not only finish this chapter but also to simply get this chapter uploaded on the site. The site has been acting up. But anyway, it feels weird not writing about Lois or Ollie in the picture. But don't worry,I suppose I am just following the natural progression of the story.

I'm looking forward to the next chapter as it's veering off on the AU route.

P.S. I wasn't sure about Lana, like I didn't hate her season one to season three-ish? But honestly she overstayed her stay and she had one purpose (Clark's first love) ,they didn't need to do that back and though between Clark and Lana in the first place.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.

Please, fave, follow and review.

I will try and update soon.

Greekgeekable


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All rights reserved to the CW, Smallville and Warner Brothers.**

* * *

Chapter Three

'I bring upon fate. I will disrupt the order, in order to restore order.' Doctor Fate — in the distant future.

Starling City, California, 2001

Two Weeks before Clark's Arrival in the past

'Moira' Laura Queen wrinkled her nose. She'd left the floor teeming with orderlies and waiting patients, onto the floor she'd reserved for her own interest. Gazes had drawn to the slender frame wrapped in a wool coat, to the sound of her high heels bouncing off the walls, but made sure to avoid the artic cast of her eyes. With her thumb, she played with the ring she had reinstated on her left hand. She cut her gaze to the glass reflecting the city, she and her husband had once attempted to reform … she slowed her pace approaching the figure positioned outside the door.

The man was only a few years older than her son, dark eyes locked with hers. He inclined his head towards her, before drawing his hand behind himself and opened the door, stepping out of her way.

She drew inside the sterile room.

In its own way, it imitated an opulent beauty, with its operational tools, pristine bedsheets pulled over the rising and falling chest of a bed ridden man, or the tiny pale hand dwarfed in its desperate attempt to awaken the comatose patient.

Ghosting towards the teenage girl's bent head, her curtain of brown hair obscured the side of her face as Moira took a seat next to her.

She wanted to fill the air with a conversation— stilted as it may be — as a family, before this second incident they had been (attempting and woefully failing) to sew back the pieces of their broken home.

He had tried for Thea, tried to assume the role of the well-adjusted older brother; but when it came to the two of them, (mother and son), her boy was best described as ... jaded.

Something dark and primal had attached itself to the young man who'd returned from the island; he never talked … to her anyway. Avoiding and shifting through the shadows like a bat in the night, but his eyes told her the truth: a mother had an unequivocal access to her child's disposition.

And now, her gaze raked the head of shaggy blond hair, growth of brown beard and passive expression of her unconscious boy. He really was a boy, wasn't he? — Besides the fact being her son — the boy was barely twenty-one, and only God knew how he had survived those two years on that island.

Before she took a seat next to her daughter, she fondly tucked a lock of hair hanging in his face behind his ear.

'He almost looks peaceful this way, don't you think?'

She didn't expect an answer and was not surprised when Thea remained silent.

She'd been twelve when Oliver was reportedly lost at sea, thirteen when he had returned and on the eve of her birthday, he had fallen into a coma. No child, no matter her privilege in life deserved this amount of strain, loss and woe placed upon her shoulders.

As usual, Moira caressed her youngest arm, a pitiful gesture of comfort. Then again, what would empty words filled with conjecture do for the girl's mind.

Oliver had been in the coma coming up a month. His vitals had been fine, his brain patterns fine, and weight remained intact.

'Have either Laurel or Tommy been in to see him today?' said Moira, as conversationally as her cool voice allowed it to be.

The curtain of hair bobbed up and down.

Thea's voice was all but a whisper as she rubbed circles with her thumb around his palm: 'Tommy, says Bruce Wayne has flown in — and whatever you're thinking, he's not as money hungry as the playboy mask of deflection he wears indicates, (those are my words, not Tommy's, by the way), he's not gunning for Ollie's stake in the company — even though they were never close, he just wants to check in. I mean, Ollie had just got back and he probably never thought he'd have to fly back down here and see if an old class mate was doing well again. He's obviously worried.'

Both women knew the girl was babbling, but neither did much to dissuade the young lady. Thea crossed her arm over the other in her attempt to push her hair out of her face, giving her mom the first look at her profile.

She was growing into a fine young woman, her sparkling eyes that could never decide if they were green or blue were still locked on her brother, unwavering. Her lips were drawn into a fine line and her brows remained puckered.

'Well that's nice of Mr. Wayne…'

What else was their left to say, that boy was strange, as much as a "wild child" and "wild card" the boy presented himself to be, he always seemed intent on the practise of restraint and control. She had seen him manage close to six glasses of champagne during an hour speech and seemed unaffected by the alcohol.

She shook her head, Bruce Wayne … was of little consequence, sure he too had faced a tragedy, but his loss was not as fresh — and it seemed at the moment — as on-going as her family's.

'The doctor came in half an hour ago and said the same thing, only a few spikes have registered on his brain waves. They think his body must be reacting finally to the trauma…'

Moira nodded, absently.

'Perhaps… I don't know… he's been back for six months and now, now his body wants to give out on him. I know, we've said it before, but he was in the dojo with his trainer, it seems obtuse to say now… but a healthy man like that shouldn't just fall. — Though who am I to say anything, it's not like he took my advice to see that specialist anyway…Meditation can only go so far … Doctor Crane… but what if's, what if's …'

But it was as if Thea hadn't heard her ramblings for she said more to herself than to her mom: 'It will be all okay once he wakes up. He'll wake up and be himself.' She alternated between that mantra twice over before sniffing loudly.

But what kind of Oliver did Thea want? What kind of Oliver did she want, herself? Both versions of Oliver, before the island and after the island were able to gravitate towards his sister, but when it came to her, in truth both versions of her son had resented her, the only thing with A.I (after Island) Oliver, was, that he was better at hiding it.

She ran a hand through her hair, simultaneously inspecting his clipped nails.

'Do you think we're cursed?' Thea whispered.

She jerked her head towards her daughter, confusion marring the prominent lines on her aging face. The strain of running an empire; the loss of her son; and husband had finally broken down her aristocratic features.

'What do you mean by that, Thea, is this about your father and Oliver's boating accident … or, now are we talking about how your father's … death was ruled a suicide — or, the fact, we have Oliver back with traumatic impediments and now he has fallen into a coma? — Perhaps.' The growing sense of hysteria mellowed out in the end of her speech. She was frankly, tired. Tired of whatever it was? Divine punishment inflected on her family, or cosmic intervention if that's what it was.

With a small shake of her head, a gaunt smile appeared on her daughter's lips. 'No, not just our family… think of the Luthor's. They've had tragedy, haven't they? Lex and Lena's mother died after the sudden death of their younger brother, then that was that accident with Lex ending up bald, and Lex and Lena's fate being tied to Lionel all this while. While in Gotham, at eight years old, the well-publicised and tragic murders of Dr. Thomas and Martha Wayne occurred in an alley right in front of their son's eyes. I mean, what we've gone through, well … you know … But it seems like our little hierarchy of power are cursed, don't you think?'

Before she could even praise her daughter for her perceptive insight — the ghost of Robert showing through her foresight — Moira's eyes slammed to the heart monitor attached to Oliver, and the spiked reading of his heart beats. The insistent warning noise of an anomaly crushed into her. She watched her son begin to jerk and shake against the pristine sheets he lay against.

'Call for the Doctor now! Diggle, get Doctor Higgins, now!' bellowed Thea, hovering over Oliver, her eyes creasing with incoming tears of fear.

Oliver's eyes were fluttering under his eyelids, his lips parting as if in anticipation of an intake of breath, before a silent scream ran through his body again and again.

Doctor Higgins, Diggle (the guard at the door), and her own bodyguard Lawrence tore into the room ahead of Higgin's assistants.

Suddenly Moira felt strong hands wrap around her forearms, trying to turn her away, pull her away … away from her son. Her convulsing son ... who needed his mommy to hold him … to tell him everything would be alright. She had already lost Robert — not Oliver, not Oliver too.

She fought like a rabid animal, it could have been Diggle or Lawrence who fought against her, but damn them. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion, the flat lining of the heart monitor, the revving up of the defibrillators, the crowd of doctors obscuring her view of her son. The fact she and Thea were being dragged to the exit.

He had been fine, he had been stable, this mantra pounded against her psyche as the cool air of the empty hallway hit her warm cheeks.

And then everyone faltered, Moira never reached the hallway, Thea never managed to elbow her way out of… Diggle's grasp, and the doctors stared at Oliver Queen, a collective feeling of acclimated shock ran through the room.

Like a starved man, his eyes raked, no, tore through the room, briefly touching upon herself, Diggle and Thea, before he breathed: 'Clark.' And fell like a dead weight back against the bed.

* * *

Oliver

One Week before Clark's Arrival from the future

Oliver scraped his spoon around the curve of the plastic cup in search of any more chocolate goodness. He drew the spoon slowly from his lips avoiding the weight of his mother and Thea's gazes plastered on his prone figure.

Dr Higgins dark brown eyes swept over Oliver with a look akin to awe as he huffed out his analysis: 'Healthy as a horse, by all accounts of course… except for the initial shock and confusion, but it seems …' at which Oliver zeroed out of Higgins speech. He cut a look to his … family.

The immaculately dressed woman sitting closest him, with hooded blue eyes, had pushed back any interference of the press for a whole week — and to that he was impressed. This woman with his blond hair, his full brows and his complexion had gained an additional twelve years of living compared to her counterpart — murdered on Lionel Luthor's orders. The years had passed, but still the woman remained beautiful, the added lines of age showcased, the birth of another child, the inescapable loss of a husband, the strain of raising a wild child, and the temporary fear of abandonment … caused by his isolation on the island. She was there in this woman's face, the memory of the mom he had once known. But this woman, his mother, had something cold and calculated draped over her aura. She cared about him, undoubtedly, if her flinging herself against him and startling he and Thea, (a girl who had shook his centre) was any indication. But he couldn't honestly say what these additional years had done to her character.

His gaze shifted to his… uh, sister. When his parents had died in his original timeline, he'd often, absently thought what it would be like to have a brother or sister. And here she was, no older that thirteen? Fourteen? (Clark and Chloe's age, about now) wide eyed, lips pursed, hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. (Chloe's age … Well shit, was this an invitation for therapy if ever asked for … the love of his life … his wife … was as old as his sister … what the hell did that make him … of course, he'd wait … he'd have to wait for her… but with this foreknowledge of his spunky, beautiful … Jesus, I sound like am…. No, no. I'm thinking of twenty-four-year-old Chloe ... She's the one I'm waiting for — Damn Nabu for doing this! Clark was strong enough to change things on his own, without his help. And he was fucked up enough before this, how the hell was this good for his psyche?)

A frown creased his brow and he felt the added pressure of Thea's hand squeeze his own, her turquoise gaze asking, "what's wrong? Tell us?" He turned away from her, feeling her disappointment radiate from her as he looked outside the night sky inked a dark blue.

Once he had officially woken up, he had made the conscious effort to remain mute … it was for the best, there was so much to take in. When he had agreed to this task, he would be the first to admit he hadn't thought everything through, and had thought reminiscently of Chloe's theorised mingled speech of worry and disapproval. But most likely, like Clark, he hadn't been given a lot of time to think about his decisions. While Clark would be walking with the ghosts of his past, Oliver now knew first hand, what that situation would be like — well, kind of, — he continued to look at three new additions patiently waiting for him to recognise them — these people were worse than ghost: they were real and apart of his darkest hopes.

He, Clark and Bruce had talked about their intermingled hope, one they all shared; (Sure, Clark had the Kent's, but still the loss of Jonathan remained great, despite his claims of having 'moved on.') Each man secretly wished that they could have lived in a time where their parents were alive and healthy. Not change anything else but that.

At one-time, Oliver had known it was a wistful fantasy… but now, as he lazily placed his chocolate mousse pot on top of his newspapers, catching the anxious worried and care filled gaze of John Diggle's eyes, he realised he was facing the consequences of his single wish. In many ways it had come true. Nabu had warned him — It was because of Clark it had come true, this change in the timeline. Clark's determination and ambition, his will and wish to come back, that's what had reconfigured time, according to Nabu. And the archer had almost dismissed the sentient being, but of course Nabu was right, he was the conduit of fate. He knew these things.

Oliver turned back to face the two new anomalies that featured in his life. The two most important women in his original timeline had been his wife and her cousin, but now feeling the gazes of his mother and Thea's lovely eyes boring into his own — the change had already occurred in him, despite his best efforts to avoid the both of them. Thea's gaze scoured his own, like a miner in pursuit of diamonds seeking to known the answer of his unease. He almost flinched at their intensity, besides Chloe, Lois, he had never seen so much love being poured in his direction. It almost scared him and immediately a twinge of guilt struck his chest.

He'd had a solid week to acclimate to his memories of his past timeline and this present one: and it appeared that Thea meant the world to him — she filled that excess of love he'd never been able to adorn on anyone because he'd never had a sister — well except Lois, in their later years. But now he really had a sister. The urge to ruffle her hair felt overwhelming, but he knew he had to be careful not to scare the both of them with all his emotions.

He grimaced to himself — he had put this young girl through an excessive ordeal; and now with taking over his younger body with the full retention of his thirty-one-year-old self … he just couldn't, shouldn't or wouldn't tell either woman about this change; besides placing the pressure on their backs, he could just see it now: being strapped to the bed and wheeled off to Belle Reve— great. He'd have to wait for Clark to appear and then hopefully all would be fine.

He offered Thea a comforting smile at which she blinked at him, before giggling behind her hand. He slowly rested his eyes on his mother's electric gaze, it softened as she locked gazes with him. The worried line that were her lips became fuller. He gently inched his hand towards her face and pushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear. When he'd been five (in his original lifetime), she tended to do that. The ghost of remembrance flashed in her opulent gaze and she clutched his hand tightly. Did he trust her ... no. His other memories were aware— despite his previous persona as a wild boy this their mom was 'a calculating bitch'. Whatever had happened to his loving, doting mother … well **_he_** couldn't blame her. Time, money and the Luthor's tendency to 'love to fuck you over'. He wanted to tell her he forgave her, understood some of her actions, but instead croaked from lack of use: 'Mom.'

Her eyes widened. She appeared to scramble to hug him again as ferociously as she had once he'd officially woken up. Oliver wrapped his arms around her, and felt the heated gaze of Dr. Higgins on him — in all actuality the poor man was gaping at the billionaire, with confusion and maybe something like annoyance, because for a solid week, he could not understand why Oliver could not speak— or wouldn't.

His mom soothing whispers alternated between: 'Oliver, oh baby, it's okay, it will be okay, you're okay,' or 'You're okay, right, you're speaking now, you can speak, can't you? Right, Olliebear?'

A small smile ghost across his lips, she hadn't called him that since he was five, and buried six feet under a mass of dirt.

'Ma', as much as I love you,' he whispered, slightly taken aback by his gruffer, deeper baritone, 'I can't really breathe, and after all the work poor Dr. Higgins put in, we wouldn't want to extend my stay in the ward, would we?'

He heard the collective chuckles of Diggle and Thea, both seemed to have fallen from both mouths against their owner's wills. Huh — he thought to himself, as his mother released him, with her own watery laugh — was this Oliver not as reliant on sarcasm and humour? The asshole (and yes, he was fully aware he was abusing himself) had what Oliver would dream of, a living full-blood family. Spoilt little rich boy.

'God Ollie, did that coma finally knock your funny bone into existence?' asked his sister, slyly, avoiding the disapproving glower of their mother's eye.

And before Oliver could restrain himself or think through his approach, his next words tumbled out: 'Ha-ha, really funny, so fast with that tongue of yours should I just drop Thea and start calling you speedy, huh?'

The siblings stared at each other, surprise mirrored on their faces. This dynamic… was definitely new… wasn't it? Her old Oliver, when Oliver thought back, his doppelganger was never cold with his sister, but he was never this bombastic around her, that was for sure.

He offered her a tentative smile and used his hand to nervously rub the back of his neck. It was like being X-rayed under Clark's attentive gaze, and he knew countless times what that was like, having battled alongside the alien countless times, but Thea, she was his sister … and she offered him a goofy grin.

'I like that. Speedy, I mean. And, glad to see your synapses are still functioning, big bro.'

He threw her a wink, to which she wrinkled her nose.

'Ugh, Ollie I ain't one of your temporary girlfriends that you're trying to woo.'

'Girlfriends? Huh? I haven't … don't … oh right…' he trailed off, this Oliver hadn't found Chloe yet, hadn't loved her devotedly … and in all honestly, he felt very sorry for this Oliver. What would be life without Chloe Anne Sullivan. Well he never wanted to live like that ever again.

'Laurel's visited several times…' Added his mom, offhandedly.

Oliver's eyes widened … Laurel as in Laurel Dinah Lance. he figuratively threw himself back in his mind trying to connect the pixie cut vigilante he'd recruited, with the memory of a childhood friend, and the police captain's daughter. While this timeline's Oliver had he'd apparently 'been in love with her'… He, thirty-one-year-old Oliver didn't love her, obviously. No… because he was in love with Chloe. But images slammed in his mind, memories that weren't his own, of a girl's smile, her laugh, her expressive brown eyes. Visually she was different from the Dinah he had known. The new memories suggested that this timelines Dinah wasn't a metahuman. It was a distant concern, as Oliver wondered, in now choosing to avoid this new Dinah, would she think he was running away from their problems? Too bad, he had already promised his heart to someone else. Already it seemed the mound of problems were being pilling up on his shoulders.

He wondered what new surprise would happen next, that Bart Allen was his cousin or something?

'Oh, and Tommy said he'd love to come see you again too, once you're all better and everything, and since you can talk—' began Thea, in a similar tone as to their mother.

'No, he can't.' Oliver whispered.

'What do you mean Ollie?' She asked.

Within his week of solitude and self-induced silence, Oliver had known that Clark would be arriving around mid-August — the school year would begin then. His friend had told him, Lois and Bruce, with the help of Chloe of their adventures throughout Smallville, sporadically through the years. And while Nabu, had seen fit to send Oliver back, and not rely on Jor-El's decision, the sentient being had made one thing very clear: "Assist Kal-El as best as you can. For both of you the rewards will be splendid."

He had been religiously reading through both the Daily Planet and the Starling City Register, trying to reacquaint himself with their current issues; a familiar name brought up hatred and bile to his lips, appeared constantly in the business section: Lex Luthor. It wasn't like he had forgotten about the bastard, but separating the fact this Lex and his Lex from the future were almost two different people seemed ridiculous. But as Clark had explained it, and Oliver had to admit, while in contact with the smarmy bastard when Lex had been courting Lana, he could see what Clark had seen (at least the vestiges of goodness clinging to his being). Time, obsession and the reawakening of an alternate version Lionel, had fucked over whatever good left in Lex.

Oliver hadn't come back to save Lex … somethings like meeting Clark, the league and finding Chloe to him were like pith points, moments or occurrences of time that invariably never changed and remained constant. Lex turning evil … was probably one of them, but if Clark wanted to save the bald bastard, well he would always lend a helping hand.

But besides witnessing Lex's name and his move to Smallville, a business investment had cropped up: The Metropolis Tigers football team was up for sale, if memory served right, the Luthor's had placed their grubby hands on the team. But times were changing, and he would need a valid explanation for spending quite a bit a time in Smallville, rather than getting reacquainted with … Laurel Lance and Tommy Merlin. While these new childhood friends probably thought they needed him, the world needed Superman, and he needed to help Clark.

Oliver crocked a finger for Diggle, to come closer while he slipped the recent copy of the Daily Planet from under his empty chocolate cup and pointed to the business page. Diggle slipped his inflight details for Kansas City. When the women had finally left him alone, he'd made preparations with his bodyguard/friend (according to his memories) to arrange two tickets as well as his own so he could buy it right out of the Luthor's noses. Oliver had decided he liked Diggle, he didn't pry, or inquire about his new and obvious buoyant personality. Diggle seemed to approve of this new change; if his muffled laughs that made the silence all the more bearable, was any indication.

If Chloe had been around, she would have been shocked he was sure by his ability to remain silent for so long. An indulgent smile appeared on his face as he thought about his wife as he took the papers from his hand.

'Thanks Dig.'

His mother looked slightly taken aback, the charismatic joker that had seemed to replace her broody son, had rippled out of existence as the face of a business partner offering his insight stared back at him— he was clearly being considerate, because this man, emitted an aura of complete control.

'Have you seen that the Metropolis Tigers are up for sale, I know that we have investments in starling city, but seeing as Lex has been marooned in Smallville, it'd make sense his next move to appease his dad would be to get the Tigers. Obviously, obviously I have nothing against baldly, but finding out this information, is rather lucrative; we could spread our network in Metropolis. And maybe later on we could get the Daily Planet.'

'Oliver, sweetie, are you saying this is what you've been planning while stuck in this hospital bed, instead of resting, you've been formulating a new business plan?' she didn't sound upset, more curious, almost approving. She was a business woman after all.

Oliver shrugged.

'Wow Ollie, looks like three years of advanced college at Yale really did pay off,' said Thea, smirking.

'Want me to fling my peroxide dyed blonde locks behind my shoulder and flutter my long lashes at you with my Chihuahua placed comfortably in my Prada purse,' he said in the perfect imitation of a valley girl's accent.

'I … HATE … YOU!' said Thea through harsh bout of laughter.

'Lies, you live for me.'

Even his mom and Diggle were having trouble controlling their laughter. Then suddenly Oliver felt a harsh pain against his shoulder, and turned to look at his sister's furious feature.

'You idiot, you said you'd wait to watch that with me. What did you get an advanced copy and watch it with Laurel or something?'

He blinked stupidly back at her and realised, he really was an idiot, maybe her Oliver of before the 'coma' had promised her this, but he, had watched Legally Blonde three times with Chloe over the two years of their marriage— guilty pleasure, his ass.

'There's such a thing as trailers, Speedy,' he said easily enough, before raising an inquiring brow towards his mom. 'So, what do you think?'

A strange expression appeared on her face. If Oliver were to decide he'd say something like satisfaction and amazement shone on her features. She simply nodded in agreement and said: 'Lionel's team is already facing backlash from the citizens of Smallville with his loan deals. This would be a brilliant opportunity to stop some of their future endeavours.'

And get a certain Quarterback an opportunity to the team, rather dying out in the battle field— he thought to himself— while Clark had admitted to feeling a lack of guilt over Whitney's death. The information had reached Clark after sometime he and Lana had become a thing. The boy scout had said later on he felt constant bouts of guilt attack him.

He felt the added weight of his mother's hand on his shoulder and the widening of her eyes. 'And who is the additional ticket for. Oliver?'

Oliver cut an innocent look between his sister and his mother. 'I'll have to leave immediately and Thea's going back to school in a week's time. It's the least I can do right, a month in a coma, and I've managed to miss most of her holidays, spending time with someone familiar out there could help me. Taking her off your back for one week shouldn't kill you, right. And as much as I'm throwing shots at Lex for his ambition, I'm doing the same thing, right. My guilt is the thing waging on, and I just don't see any point fighting it at this point mom. The ticket is all booked as well.'

A mixture of humour, persuasion and understanding was enough to convince his mother it seemed. 'You'll look after her?'

All the while he heard Thea's happy expletives in the back of his mind.

He winked at her and said: 'With Dig on my side, no one's gonna come for us Ma. And besides as the recovering comatose billionaire I'll be more of a bonafide freak show, than a subject for kidnap. Though if you're seriously worried I was thinking of making a pit stop in the hamlet I've heard isn't too far from the big city. It's got good people, nice corn and decent coffee from what I've heard.'

It was being called Ma' that had buttered her up, Clark's affectionate alternate for his own mom, must have finally rubbed off on the archer. Whatever worry or suspicion shining his gaze vanished and her warm hands cupped his face. She placed a soft kiss on top of his forehead, eliciting the memory of a younger Moira Queen saying her last goodbyes to a son she'd never see again, once steeping into that helicopter. He was grateful his head was bent as he whispered, his voice a mirror to his five-year self: 'I love you mom.'

He felt her smile against his forehead, as she returned the sentiment, sounding very much like the young mother she'd once been.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I bet you thought I was dead or something... well no infant I've been very much a live. My birthday was last week ... so I was busy. I hope this makes sense, and if some bits don't please tell me, I have tried to make this scene make as much sense as possible.

Possible inquiries:

Oliver will retain his Smallville personality even when he remembers or faces more of CW Arrow Oliver's life.

Oliver and Chloe are endgame... I don't hate Felicity, but then I can say that about CW Arrow Oliver: my thing is CW Oliver needs to remember his not Bruce. I'm undecided if Felicity will appear in this story or not. And Laurel ... while I do love comic cannon, I have plans for her.

Only Clark and Oliver at this point are the two functioning time travelers.

The timeline as I have stated has diverted and so is very AU based.

The next chapter will be a Clark chapter.

I hope I got the Arrow-esqe characters down right : I'm not as in love with Arrow as I am with The Flash and Black Lightning.

If you're wondering in full detail how Nabu got in contact with Oliver... that will be explained later.

And P.S: DigitalGuru, I hope Oliver's POV answered your question... I think somehow , someway, the boy in the supersuit will always need his bald billionaire nemesis. Kind of like Ying and Yang. You know.

Please Review, Follow or Fave.

Thank you.

Greekgeekable


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All rights reserved to the CW, Smallville and Warner Brothers.**

* * *

Chapter Four

Smallville, Kansas, 2001

Clark

Canonically Clark had done all of this before, had ten years of experience precariously tucked away in his proverbial utility belt; devoid of batarangs, smoke pellets or thermite grenades — to name a few of the Dark Knight's paraphernalia. Bruce would effortlessly continue the mission, coaxed the crowd with a faux smile and glazed playboy blue eyes tease a crowd of cheerleaders; but, yet, as soon as Clark came into contact with bodies who Frisco danced down the hallways: he froze.

Standing in the confines of the dumping ground of hormones, latent metahuman abilities and uncensored gossip: his tragic eyes sifted through the pick 'n' mix crowd of high schoolers. What was Jeremy Creek compared to these vaguely familiar figures flickering in the corners of his eyes, or brushing past him, adamant in their day to day rituals of companionship. In many ways, he realised this week had been about re-living the past … especially for Jeremy … and now more so for Clark.

Experiencing this shift in the timeline was so different than moving in 'Clark Time' — a corny name for a brilliant concept Bart had dubbed Clark's ability to move so fast in time, that it appeared everyone else had frozen. Bart shared the ability to and had appropriately named his own "time freezing" ability: 'Flash Time'— so much cooler. He realised for all intent and purposes he was the acting facsimile of Doctor Fate, dependent on a red cape and boots: he had so much influence on these people radiating with the glow of abandon of the future. It would always be a fleeting thought: thinking about the long term, and though high school constantly brought the question of what to do next nearly every waking moment, careers day and the fact he knew someone could die in the next week held a lot more weight against Clark's psyche.

Nabu, he supposed, must've been working beyond the need of a host, maybe he'd foreseen Jor-El take this drastic action beforehand, and approved of his arrival in the past. The helmet was a sentient being after all. Perhaps, he was unequivocally relying on the Man of Steel to guide husks like Principle Kwan: who stopped in the intersection of the corridor surveying the crowd, on a better journey. Kwan ghosted away, back towards his office, the mix of pensiveness and excitement juxtaposed his shifting eyes.

 _Wow Clark, wait-ago and epitomise that whole farm boy thing you had going on_ — Lois's voice sounded in his mind, if he squinted hard enough he could erect a watery image of her standing in front of him, throwing her signature "God Smallville" smirk back at him— _nice to know the big city hasn't sapped all that naked dorkiness that made me crash all those years ago… or was that just the_ _Lightning_ _?_ The voice tickled the edges of his mind, an evanescent tremor of her melodic husk — an artifice of headstrong Mad Dog Lane, who dived head first and thought later. But even still, he wished she were here, it'd be so easy to return her understanding smile — a smile that eased those around her (constructed only for Clark) — and brush his lips against her cheek, the murmur of: "I love you Miss Lane' left on the apple and assure a shudder run down her back.

Two different pairs of hands rested on his arm: first, a "hard" slap — for Pete's hand felt more like a pat on his back, caught his attention on his right. And a smaller softer one rubbed his shoulder down to his forearm with concern.

Blue eyes crashed with playful Viridian. It wasn't love. Her eyes — he meant … when she looked at him. It was a wonder to see what it'd be like to be on the receiving end, aware and wholly conscious of the fourteen-year-olds feelings, but it wasn't love on her open face. Though she bloomed under his gaze. Perhaps, caused by the poor yellow lighting, there was a bizarro tinge to her gaze that paled the one Oliver the true keeper of her ephemeral love received. If her love for Oliver were placed on a Richter scale, then they both became something gorgeous when they looked on another.

'Are you alright there, Clark? You look like you've seen your life flash before your eyes, did Lana finally drop the jock strap and open the flood gates of your long-suffering chance at love, I haven't seen you this dazed since she finally learnt to pronounce "unconformity"? '

In Clark's defence, the way she'd stumbled over the word in preschool with her cheeks alighting and her eyes quivering with indecision had made her especially beautiful to him at the time— hey he'd only been five himself and struggling with a slight lisp.

But of course, that had been then, and now… He couldn't help but smirk at the mixture of sarcasm and jealousy tucked in each corner of her mouth — a grotesque kiss of what J.M. Barrie was all too fond of referring to. And if he could, he'd wipe it away and assure her that Lana remained just Lana in his mind, nothing more nothing less than a pretty cheerleader. No inflection of awe, or a Doberman like love could ever be associated with her name again. If she had been Lois, (he'd remind her, like he had after Chloe and Jimmy's wedding and their school reunion— that Lana was his past and he was experiencing his evolution with her.) But instead with her cousin he lightly punched her shoulder and his eyes crinkled.

A brief look of horror fluttered across both his friend's faces, and he couldn't help but leave them behind in his wake as he moved to find his 'new' locker. It was interesting to see the polarising dichotomies that his dismissive behaviour towards Lana conjured in the two. He didn't mean to tease Chloe, but as she staggered back more from the shock of his admission to "giving up" or "losing interest" in his great love, she somewhat struggled to find her breath, and grasped for air.

Pete on the other hand, (rubbing soothing circles on her back, knowing somewhat that they might be overreacting), looked like he'd been whacked around the head by one of Bruce's crystal vases polished to perfection by Alfred, stared owlishly at the back of Clark's head like he'd lost his god damn mind (This was Lana they were talking about, the girl he'd had a crush on forever …), Clark practically heard Pete yell at him through his thoughts.

Clark redshifted the arm of his rucksack, while with the other arm worked on twisting the code for his locker. He couldn't wait to get his x-ray vision in a few months, he especially missed the convenience of that ability, in his youth, his lack of control had resulted in him taking the initial liberty of seeing Lana in the locker room, but now he wondered if that scene would even play out.

'Chloe, wave your hand in front of his face and make sure that's Clark. Make sure, that this guy who looks like our six foot something friend who still hasn't signed up for football, often can't speak and function in front of Lana Lang hasn't been swapped out with a character from the Twilight Zone?'

Another chuckle slipped pass Clark's lips, as he pulled open his locker and deposited the books he held against his chest. His head ducked and sheathed within the confines of his familiar locker, he missed the excited pitter patter of light footsteps figure skate between the growing hush she elicited from the crowd. It was the faint brush of her chocolate brown hair tucked behind her ear, that signalled the newcomer.

He slowly removed his head from the safety net of his locker, half surprised he hadn't heard either Chloe or Pete's snicker at the fact he'd caught Lana's attention, despite his very blatant rebuttal of his long-suffering crush on the girl— though, he wondered vaguely—where her constant shadow was, surely Whitney wouldn't take the dumping as absolute.

His glacial eyes fell on a pair that were indecisive: the colours at were like two waring titans in conflict with each other, green and blue clashed in their continuous dance as her eyes smiled at him. This wasn't Lana. Obviously.

Obviously, this girl, maybe two inches taller than Chloe and shorter than Pete, turned her brilliant eyes on the two and knew them. She fixed the strap of her satchel in a similar fashion as Clark, exhibiting an excitement a lightyear away from his faux clumsiness.

Clark raked her from head to toe, it was an unfamiliar expression experienced by his younger best-friends, foreign and jarring to say the least — he could feel Chloe's flicker of brief jealousy before she seemed to realise: his look was a look of haunted introspection. He looked so much older than his fourteen years for a moment. Chloe reasoned this must be why he attracted so many girls at times — he was the epitome of an oxymoron: a controlled bumbling teenage - man - child. Clark felt her questioning eyes ask him: "What's wrong?"

The new girl was moving her lips, a smile matching her rich voice full of a vitality, difficult to imitate … unless you had the unfortunate mishap of being raised alongside a blonde, billionaire who had a scary affinity towards bows and arrows. It was more than that, she like Oliver and Bruce had a discrete way of dressing in jeans (and a tank top and sneakers in her case) that smelled to Clark: of money, despite appearances.

He couldn't be sure of her identity yet but everything screamed at **_him._** So, he fell back onto Lois' rules of reporting (he'd need to reframe another one in the near future): 3) _always make a good impression and 4) check your facts three times._ Well he'd check his gut feeling one more time.

Clark appeared to blossom in front of her, as he put forth a brilliant smile, that brought an almost, almost, ugly flush to the apples of her cheeks. Dwarfing her dainty hand in his larger one he shook it as his smooth baritone sounded in her ears: 'Hi, you must be new here? And you've already found Pete and Chloe, good choice,' he said, ignoring the way her eyes lit up with eerie interest the way Cat Grant's did when he passed by her desk at the Planet, 'Chloe's like a walking encyclopaedia of knowledge and witty comebacks, so you'll never be bored.'

'Then again,' he deadpanned, 'if you hang out with me and Pete long enough you'd be associating yourself with this year's prime candidates for the potential scarecrow, I'd pick my choice wisely. Seriously, run now.'

Pete blanched, before exclaiming and waving his permission slip like a shield wide enough in breadth to cover his chest from any Jock's watchful eye. Clark smirked at him before correcting himself: 'Excuse me, guess you should just avoid me then.'

She smiled — a handsome facsimile of the green archer's. But he was so close, all he needed was for her to confirm it, to just say it, or murmur it, because the resemblance between the two was like obnoxious bout of laughter from the universe, mocking his cautiousness.

She cut her eyes from Chloe and Pete, easily looping an arm through Chloe's in a sisterly way, very similar to the way Lois' would in the coming future. An invisible smile tugged the corner of his lips, at least fate seemed to approve of Chloe and Oliver's future union.

'Chloe was right about you, charming, cute and a killer smile, are you sure about this Scarecrow business Clark, you don't look like you're in need of a fixing for a new heart?' The siblings seemed to have a habit of rolling his name of their tongues in the same way, univocal buoyance and assuredness in his person.

'Is that right?'

She shrugged: 'Calling them as I see em', Boy Scout,' she teased back.

Another sharp wash of déjà vu prompted him to stare at her again, picking pieces of his Cousin in law from her face.

'I'm surprised you haven't guessed already, but then again, as Pete said you're a true gentleman through and through, and unlike some of these people,' she said with a faint hiss, cutting a brief sneer at the growing crowd of obvious eavesdroppers, 'I'm Thea, Thea Queen. And can we be friends now? Hanging out with you would probably sober up Oliver. I mean I love him to bits now, don't get me wrong, because he's so much funnier now, but his manners are still a bit shaky dear, if you know what I mean?'

Clark snorted with laughter and nodded back at her accepting her offer — damn Oliver, his old and soon to be future friend had used that poorly timed "shaky dear" barb to taunt Lobo — the Czarnian had howled with laughter and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. Once back at Watchtower and reciting his exertion to his lady dearest, had rolled her eyes despite tears of laughter falling down her cheeks.

* * *

Oliver

Smallville, Kansas, 2001

His precarious mood teetered on the scale between bemusement and disgust. He was already ten minutes late picking Thea up from the Torch. A smile of adoration ghosted over his face: the image of too green eyes and blonde hair streaked randomly with red shone back at him. She'd always been young his little watchtower, with seven years between them the difference of age had always been glaringly obvious. But meeting the love of your life at fourteen over the age of twenty-one had varying effects on his erratic heart.

He couldn't even tell, if he was lying to himself or not, that when he and Thea had left the best Smallville had to offer (a cosy and cramped bed and breakfast) that he hadn't hoped to run into her. Or catch a glimpse of her in the distance as he drove his rented Aston Martin (until his actual one was shipped down to cornfield city.)

He prayed, he and Clark became acquainted real soon. Struggling through Mrs Lawson's generous but abysmal cooking was making especially homesick for Martha Kent's cooking, even though he had his own mother and was oblivious to her culinary skills it seemed.

He was pissed because he was in 2001 and the blessing that was Bluetooth had not been integrated into cars yet. It's not that he couldn't text and drive in response to the plethora of – okay let's just call it what was— downright abuse pinged back at him from his supposed "Best friends" in the world for scarpering Starling City quick and sweet wasn't enough. This mounding well of guilt drenching him every so other second attacked him and made him feel bipolar in thought.

Laurel Dinah Lance and Tommy Merlyn, two people he personally had no idea where from Adam, but this timelines Oliver had spent most of his formative years with— while still attending boarding school and having enough time to torment Lex — had every right to be ticked off at him. But the body snatcher with a death movement, ghosted his fingers over the keyboard and replied to Laurel's question of: "when are you coming back?" with three empty cold words: "I don't know."

He was pathetic, or this Oliver was … because he was alive while Laurel's baby sister was gone. He was breathing and Laurel needed to probably hold onto something tangible, and her's, something that she cared for who was alive, and he had run off to of all places, Hicksville.

Her name had been Sara … Sara Lance and apparently, he had been in love with her, and whatever machinations Tess had been involved with while on the island seemed obsolete. Because, he wasn't even sure that a Tess Mercer existed in this timeline.

'… they were careless people…' he murmured to himself, reciting one of Clark's favourite novels, _The Great Gatsby_ , initially an odd choice for the Farm Boy he'd thought, until he read the book and understood the Farm Boy's liking so much. It understood what made people in the twenties and still now, eighty years later.

He was like this unyielding god, like Darkseid he supposed, maybe not as evil and reckless, but Sara was dead (maybe not on his watch) but he'd done worse, he'd swapped out Sara for Tess in a way. Both were dead. But even worse, he'd claimed to be in love with Sara while all the while being 'in love with Laurel' (Sara's sister) and then gotten her killed. There was no way around it. It'd been a long time since he'd looked back at his face and heard the whisper of: "I heard he'd killed a man once" mock him.

With the help of Chloe, Lois, Clark and Bruce drawing him out of his darkness, he'd been in a sense clean from the drug that was the darkness that pervaded his scent. But apparently when being teleported back in the past, you have to re-face those demons again, bigger and badder.

He placed his phone back in the cubby hole, his mind tracing over the thought that this time around he was labelled: a cheater. He had cheated on a girl, that his heart and his memories told him continuously that he cared for deeply, this Oliver had attempted to convince himself time and time again: Laurel was the one, told her and himself again, only to fall on his own deaf ears, because he'd been screwing her sister.

It was fucking bullshit, he was bullshit… because he'd never cheated on someone before, until this timeline. He'd already managed to break four hearts in this timeline without even trying: Laurel's, Sara's, his father's (who'd shot himself on the lifeboat) and the his own— (with the disgust of the whole damn thing). And did it make him even worse a person, for not ever being able to be fully in love with either of Detective Lance's dead and breathing daughters? When his mind travelled to the inquisitive, witty freelance Star City reporter who happened to be his wife in the future. His feelings for her pounded like a constant beat against the waves; was he an even worse person now than before?

Hadn't he had to do enough self-assessing in his former lifetime? — it was like being blessed with a mother and a sister resulted in more magnanimous consequences… but he loved having them… even if he talked to his mom sparingly. He still wasn't sure about her.

His car raced onto Loeb Bridge.

And then there was Tommy, perhaps a more persistent thought than Laurel. Oliver had picked up his voicemail and now ran the words — a veiled echo of the man's voice pressed play on a preverbal recorder in his mind: I'd say you were a piece of shit, but this is the second scare you've given me in my young life. Believing you were dead and falling in a coma within weeks of each other were almost easy to work my head around. But you up and leaving … I don't know man, I don't really want to guilt you and I know you must feel awful about what happened … you living and then gone. But Queen, me and Laurel are here, even before you do come back, at least drop me a call or pick up. I don't bite remember — well except when we were five and you stole my Action man, Asshole … just you know…

 _Just you know_ … each word had dripped with brotherly concern that almost choked the archer up. He had brothers of course in his last lifetime: Clark and Bruce. The unlikeliest pair of weirdoes placed on the scales of personalities. But the Dark Knight, dark and brooding and the Man of Steel, light and otherworldly seemed to humble him as much as he did them. And now there was this new player in the game, who'd apparently known him since they were toddlers, was worried. And who wouldn't? His behaviour was half erratic and it was a wonder his mother had allowed him to whisk Thea away to Smallville. More probably, she'd only allowed her to enrol in Smallville High school so to watch over him.

The semi past by him fluidly. Half caught up in his reverie and consumed with impending guilt, he just about missed the long steel cylinder roll towards him. His eyes widened as he swerved away veering towards the metal railing his mind moving in hyper-speed.

Hadn't this story gone a whole lot differently the last time, hadn't an unassuming teenage boy been standing at the bridge when Lex Luthor's Lexus careened into his steel body at sixty miles per hour, hadn't this been the birth of an unlikely friendship between the intergalactic traveller and megalomaniac. It was all wrong, or he was too early, or Nabu was playing his little trick with time the same way Zantana played with magic because there was no Clark Kent waiting on the bridge to save him.

But he'd be damned if he'd go out like this: and twisting his impending fate around his finger, he yelled: 'Clark Kent, get your Boy Scout ass here and save me!' He counted on his friend to save him the same way any citizen of Metropolis placed their faith in Superman, every day.

His breathing probably picked up and his heart probably pounded frantically against his chest, but he refused to close his eyes.

His car was about to make contact with the barriers and either crush his ribcage first or deploy his airbag, when a figure and a flash of wide glacial blue eyes slammed into his vision.

* * *

Author Notes:

Sorry this took so long, but I started a new job and I wanted to get a handle of things before I returned back to writing.

I don't know how everyone will feel about this twist in this new timeline, I thought it would be interesting to subvert Oliver's expectation because even though he and Clark have a lot of foreknowledge of what's about to happen, time can be a tricky thing.

Jeremy hasn't been forgotten and don't worry Lex is still a major player in this story much is the scene where Chloe and Oliver meet.

And Lol, the main subject of this story hasn't been forgotten either: Kent Nelson will become apparent but soon I want may basis established as much as Clark and Oliver will in the next chapter.

The shaky dear comment is in reference to Trixie Mattle from RuPaul Drag Race and a lot of allusions are influenced by the Great Gatsby, I just finished re-reading it and was influence by his writing style for a bit.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.

Please, Review, Fave and Follow

Greekgeekable.

p.s: I'm already starting on the next chapter and I have new idea for a Charmed/Vampire Diaries crossover if anyone is interested.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All rights reserved to the CW, Smallville and Warner Brothers.**

* * *

Chapter Five

Bruce

Gotham City, New York, 2001

En-route –

The weight of Alfred's eyes remained voluble and admonishing.

'Master Wayne, do you not find exceeding the speed limit of this "tiny little hamlet" is pushing your unequivocally good luck: the span of your relationship developed with the Smallville police department has held so well?'Alfred's request flew over Bruce's head.

'Then again, since you are now building upon that wretched, deplorable but all the same seemingly convincing reckless playboy wonder persona, this may be a ploy to enforce it state-wide.' Commented Alfred tucked in the back seat of his master's Alfa Romero — a graduation present given to the then eighteen-year-old who'd delivered to his father (figure) a comely smile.

Bruce ignored Alfred's small and nearly un-discernible cough of disapproval: and he could almost, almost agree on the same lines of his father figures thoughts. This was rash — and Bruce Thomas Wayne, Age: Twenty, Occupation: Trainee repellent playboy of Gotham City and deferred College student, never — usually— decided without consideration of the variables first. Usually, of course — but …

'He's an idiot,' he growled again, the needle on the speedometer creeped closer to one hundred and twenty. 'Tell me Alfred, how does one idiot get lost on an island for nearly two years, retrieved finally, only to fall into a coma. And before, I, could even pack up my cosy woollen jumper. My moronic ex schoolmate, billionaire at arms: instead of resting his body. Hop, skipped, and jumped on one of my private planes — no, no I'm not mad Alfred, why are you looking at me like that— to fly, not to Cancun. But Hicksville,' his dry, clipped tone quieted and he felt Alfred's contentment as the speedometer quieted down, as did the volume of his voice. 'my Hickstown.'

Bruce sped past the welcome to Smallville sign, glacial eyes locked on the road. Blue found grey, both shades unreadable to those apart of the outside world, but all knowing between the two men.

'Am I correct in understanding the root problem here is: Oliver Queen and Clark Kent. Smallville may follow the atypical expectations of "a small town, you can run into anyone" trope. But I highly doubt a fourteen-year-old boy will be of — '

' I know it's a coincidence. Look at page 4 for example. For a death-defying idiot, he's got a keen eye. It'll be nice for the Luthor's to be stopped in their tracks. I'm happy to say I approve, if that's why he's here. But then again— '

' What was wrong with Metropolis?' The shuffling of paper drowned Bruce's concentration. He cut a look back at Alfred, innocent was not a word usually associate with the British butler. But it must have been what he aimed to convey. A coy smile grew on Bruce's lips as he shook his head.

' Perhaps he wanted to acquaint himself with the locals. Perhaps Star City and Metropolis were – are too big for him. An island, after all. That is, where Master Queen was marooned — you're on a pathway of self- induced seclusion. He has been forced on to it for three years. The company of people must not excite him as it once did. So, I do wonder...'

Bruce's scowl grew more prominent— those damned frown lines wrinkled his forehead, something both Clark and Oliver teased him on various degrees on the dictometer of personalities. Clark's always simmering on the low end and Oliver (to Bruce's annoyance missing the scale all together and skyrocketing to another stratosphere (Oh the irony).

'Wonder, what?' Bruce murmured, his words willingly lost to the air stream of the rolled down window, but never the less retrieved by his companion.

'The similarities. Are we travelling - still above the speed limit may I add — not to see an old friend from 'Hicksville' as you call it. But to instead, acquaint yourself with a faded mirror image of yourself. '

The sun's rays peeked, and then blinded Bruce momentarily. Just as intrusive and dogmatic as the butler. And though his mouth twisted, and the urge to spit the acid truth of the matter rolled on his tongue. His mouth remained closed, as well as the shutters over his eyes.

With a flick of the radio knob, the local news station flared into life. Cozying back into his seat, the silence Alfred affected, and the rush of air invading his watered eyes — the news report slowly, achingly infiltrated all his senses at once.

The zeroing in on the wonderings of the hick-town that homed one of the only friend he'd every "willing established": erupted a sort of frisson in his fracture person. When and if, he heard a mysterious saving down willow's creek or near the old Montgomery farmhouse, he and the intergalactic traveller had once played (badly on Bruce's part)

baseball.

But this time the electric current flickered through his system. In Smallville KROC's defence, it was their job to deliver all news no matter the scale it rested on the severities scale: but did they really, have to announce it in a manner that paused the minutes of this heart.

"FOUR BY FOUR NARROWLY MISSES CAR… FOUR BY FOUR CAUSE THE CRASH, ERRERATIC AVOIDANCE OF ASTON MARTIN TO CRASH INTO LOEB BRIDGE… LITTLE LUTHOR …. NOT AT THE SCENE OF THE CRIME… NOT BEHIND THE WHEEL… NO- NO BREAKING NEWS…. RECENTLY RECOVERED (FROM A COMA) OLIVER QUEEN, ALMOST DIED AGAIN. SAVED! YES, SAVED BY DIVING TEENAGER… NAME OF TEENAGER, SMALL TOWN HERO—'

The channel changed at a quick speed:

'And in other news, not more than thirty minutes ago, a recently comatose and island marooned Playboy Billionaire Oliver Queen, either cannot catch a break or in the words of my co-host - "is the luckiest son of a biscuit in the world". While driving an Aston Martin (as his own, according to reports is being transported from Star City, to our humble residence)– rented for the time being, down old Loeb Bridge. A four by four seemingly lost control of his steering and almost careened into the billionaire's car. With quick reflexes, Mr Queen avoided the collision.'

Was that sweat trailing down Bruce's brow, the sun's beating bolder.

' However, crashed and then dove into old Loeb river. Unconscious and bleeding, the billionaire was sinking, drowning, securely belted into his car. However, as they say three times lucky, a Good Samaritan, a fourteen-year-old boy from the local high-school—'

Bruce's brilliant gaze flashed to Alfred's in the mirror, while Bruce's read exasperation, Alfred, as it should, shone with pride.

Oliver

Consistence. For the time being, it was best to rely on consistencies; what was a consistency? A) he was still the son of Moira'Laura' Queen and Robert Queen. B) Clark Kent was still an intergalactic traveller from the planet Krypton. C) Clark ever the eagle browned Boy Scout would save the day and D) Clark's concerned gaze would always remain a startling blue. It was funny looking at Clark's eyes. Because if you looked hard enough at the makeup of blue surrounding his irises; they were like the constellations he was so fond of exploring in his telescope.

Clark blinked and for a moment, an exaggerated one, Oliver was brought back to a period of time, when the world did not know about Superman. When the world was rising on a shit pile of pain and struggle. But when Clark's eyes opened again, staring at him from across his hospital bed in one of those uncomfortable chairs, the bright glow of hope shone again... that, or, they'd given him enough morphine to screw with his over-active thoughts.

' We need to stop meeting like this. I know you said somethings and I said some to you. But what does that warrant you the right, huh? You keep saving my life or something and I'd have to start calling you a hero.' Oliver's mouth tasted like shit, like the scattering of ash and nicotine spread from a cigarette. He was pretty sure; his chest was not fairing too well either. With each word, he felt the effects of a snap, crackle and pop of some aggressive rice krispies sliding down.

Nevertheless, his eyes, his inconsistent green eyes (not brown, like he was used to; a brown that mirrored his paternal grandmother's, were forever gone. Like a past he once knew,) beamed across the room at his old friend.

The sound of the scrapping chair and it's collapse against the floor gave Oliver a rush of time to prepare him from Clark's onslaught. The boy- because physically, he must have been about Thea's age- collided into him. Wrapping his strong arms around him.  
A raucous guffaw clawed its way to the front of his oesophagus — a rather rude decision on his brain's party, but as if his frontal cortex actually gave a damn.

As Oliver listened as Clark's laughter aligned with his own. He had to half wonder if he was crushing the man of steel, so hazy was the sound of his amusement.

Clark was the first to pull away, and although he probably had more time inspecting the changes this 'Oliver' had to present. The unabashed curiosity remained intact.

'It's the eyes, isn't it?' Oliver breathed, a better response on his lungs. 'Green is so different. I'll match Chloe, now won't I?' Then came the dot, dot dot, and the intake of breath, 'It's weird seeing her so young . So carefree and in love with you.'

' You didn't say so,' Clark said.  
Oliver blinked back in response. While Clark didn't look that different, an adage of muscle had filled out his lean frame. And perhaps Lois had more control over his dark waves than Clark cared to admit in their (present) future. But this boy was not a far cry from the man he was to become - yeah, very true, but that prepubescent voice.

' You don't think she's "so in love with me" so that's good. She'll grow out of it.'

A wicked smile flashed on Oliver's face. 'Smartass. You've got to be careful of that mouth of yours, you're starting to sound a hell of a lot like a Daily planet reporter I know. I heard she's got killer legs.'

' Careful with your tenses old man, I think it should be "used to know".'

' Okay, now I know why Lois always looks like she's ready to kick your ass whenever you have her article in hand.'

Non to surprisingly, Clark was unable to muffle his laughter. And then the saddest thing took place: it disappeared.

Distant constellations swirled back at him, alien and as other as the creature from Krypton.

Clark at a human pace, picked up a paper cup, filled it with some water and handed it to him. His eyes an open book read to Oliver: stranger. Strangers are all we are. Talk later.

As Oliver took the cup from his saviour, a slow crooked smile worked itself on his face as the door of his hospital room ricocheted against the wall adjacent.

While Clark aptly jumped, a splash of water hit the white sheets of Oliver's blanket.

Oliver's eyes found three pairs focusing on him: the stocky African American boy gaped from Clark to the billionaire. Filling the space around his hospital bed - Clark teetered on the edge (an odd place for a stranger... but no one seemed to mind). Thea's kaleidoscope gaze watered down her face between fury and anguish. She slapped him — hard on his shoulder. His wince of pain swept under the rug, in the next moment when she flung — no, no— flew into his arms.

The Queen siblings ignored his wince of pain. His eyes fluttered close enjoying the contact, ever aware, green eyes touched his skin, exposing him with each brush.

' I hate you,' Thea's breath tickled the hairs on his neck. The shuddered followed like clockwork, the faint recognition of Clark's chuckle noted too in the back of his mind.

'Ouch, Speedy, there you are with that quick tongue of yours again.'

' You going to break my heart again, Queen?'

And though bright inflections dotted periodically over certain words, Oliver's sad eyes opened, met and brushed Thea's.

He knew this girl. He'd known her for fourteen years, a version of himself, one Oliver Queen (a lucky bastard version) had the privilege of knowing and loving a Thea Queen. Following a haunted flow of comfort, Oliver's arm extended to Thea's cheek. His hand cupped her cheek, and the escaped whisper of — 'I kind of love you Thea,' was exhibited to three strangers.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Pete throw a wide-eyed look between his two friends. Clark Joseph Kent, did not so much as blink, though two dusting bloomed on his cheeks, very much like a Chloe Anne Sullivan. And while, Clark found himself busy with the open expanse of ... well, Kansas.

Chloe gaze brushed against the two, a tiny smile tucked in the corner of her mouth.

Thea drew away and flew into Clark's arms — his nickname for her was more accurate then the joke. Clark - in ClarkTime would always have enough time to react. But even he too, followed with wrapping his arms around her — rather awkwardly, Oliver might add.

She whispered: 'Thank you, thank you,' over again, in a rhythm not to dissimilar to the one his mom sang once he'd woken from his 'coma'.

A bashful smile dotted the buds of Clark's cheeks —

so dissimilar from the man of steel's reassuring gaze. But Clark wasn't superman ... well at least yet.

The boy looked slightly uncomfortable, his large hand raked the tussles of his waves, as Chloe unabashedly seemed to ogle him — thank god, it wasn't with infernal 'teen spirt lust', just that investigative energy all Lane- Sullivan's were fuelled with.

' What was it like Mr Queen? After having survived on an island for a near two years and a coma. This new death experience must have been a walk in the park for you.'

And there she went, his Chloe running off with her tongue before her head. Within a jog of a second, he watched as her face crumpled into horror at her touch and go comment.

' Oh my god I'm...' she began. And it didn't matter, that Thea and Pete's eyes had widened to the size of dinner plates. A bubble of laughter exploded in the room. It was endearing, really. When you lived with the woman you loved for a year now, married to her and everything. Those little quirks became what's should be. Oliver laughed so hard, he rested a hand against his abdomen. The pain wasn't anything new, or so bad. He was sure Bart had done a worse job on him.

Like clockwork, a new cup of water was thrust in-front of him. Familiarity or not, Clark Kent with a twinkling eye assisted his friend. Oliver jerked his head in thanks.

'Second save of the day Boy Scout, how the hell am I gonna to reward you?'

Clark's gaze slowly drifted away from his, falling to the ground. He was so much better at this: acting, like a former self. Though Oliver was sure unlike himself, Clark's whole childhood had not been rewritten.  
' It was the right thing to do, honestly.' There was even a slight hiccup to his adolescent tone.

' Bull- '

'Oliver Jonas Queen, I swear if you dare finish that sentence ...' spat Thea, almost playfully until her voice dropped, 'well at-least there's something that's stayed the same.'

'Chloe, as you were saying,' Oliver said. The great Chloe Sullivan blinked slightly dumbstruck by the lithe beats that were Oliver Queen— And he liked it.

'Chloe, you didn't tell me you know Oliver Queen. Do tell me how you met. Did you act the same as you did now? Mouth hang — 'Clark teased, only to be shot a venomous look from the blonde.

It seemed to fly over both he and Pete's head however, because their sniggers were auditory. While Oliver smile was internal, a soft look was given to Chloe: who blinked, the buds of the cheeks grew fuller with colour.

'Stop teasing my friend,' snapped Thea, the jab was directed at all people with a penis in the room.

Oliver raised his hands in defeat. 'If it's any consolation Ms Sullivan,' he said, 'drowning comes third on all the shitty experiences I have had. Incidentally my worse, yes even worse than being on an island, was when Thea was born...' he explored, threaded through the memory. the tale was meant to be a throw away comment, but ...' such a tiny thing. Red as a tomato, screaming her head off, and for some moments and days on time I thought I was going to be an only child again.'

Oliver found Clark's surprised gaze first. All eyes were on him, Oliver anyway.

Damnit, once again, he was pushing Thea on a rollercoaster of emotions. What the hell was wrong with him? No, better question would be when would he be better acclimatised to his current—

A faint knock interrupted his melancholy.  
He must have said: 'come in' because the door opened and a distinguished older gentleman walked into the room, his strides confident. He immediately sent a kind smile towards Thea, who he was beginning to recognise had a habit of jumping people.

The butler, calm, as ever opened his arms up to his sister and said, 'it's a pleasure to see you again, yes Ms Queen. Especially when your life-threatening brother is awake enough to wipe the crust from his eyes.'

Pete's burst of laughter was somehow drowned by Chloe's conflicted expression of amusement and disapproval. She caught his eye, her gaze read — don't mind him whoever he is.

Oliver chuckled just as loudly as Pete at the older gentlemen. ' You're always busting my chops you old man?'

And before the butler could answer, a deep baritone a touch —if possible softer than Clark's in the future ( post puberty) —floated into the room before it's owner.

'Actually that's my job , Asswipe.'

This time he roared with laughter ( while Clark fought his damnedest to control his face).

If Clark's eyes reminded him of the glistening collection of stars burning several light years away, the artic glaze that cooled Oliver was entirely different. The new comers gaze roamed him over with the care of a physician. Meticulous with his inspection. But the next flick of his gaze, his whole god damned demeanour transformed.

A lazy bat of his blue eyes sent a slow, almost dopey smile of his mouth:

' Not even two weeks out of one hospital and you land yourself in another. You got a death wish?'

For once Oliver wasn't sure how to react. The words dripped with Bruce Wayne post playboy imbecile, but the act was still intact.

'You all good, all right now?' He asked so innocently, Oliver blinked darting a panicked look to the Kryptonian — half sure he was already x-raying the billionaire from Gotham. 'You have to be, I'm sure Clark checked you over.'

Feeling like a cross species between a guppy, Oliver gaped as Bruce fucking Wayne filled the room — to the point it felt at full capacity — and punched Clark as hard as he could against the shoulder.

Clark must have moved as he always did, following the motion, stopping the shattering of Bruce's balled fist.

For someone with such cool eyes, Bruce's gaze sure did burn. 'And you, I should hog tie you up' and drag you back to Gotham, for your own safety. I'm sure Ma and Pa will agree don't you think Alfred?'

A/N: Hi guys! I'm back, a year and everything. I don't know what happened, I'm pretty sure I lost confidence in my writing. I'm pretty confident in what's presented. I know a discussion needs to happen with Clark and Oliver and oh you know time travel.

Please review, follow and fave

Greekgeekable


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